In the garden of night flowers
he hid behind the dark statues
In the cistern with the bats
he became a miner of the night
…he was searching for new wine
for a delirium they had never heard of…
Nothing
Still nothing
Always nothing
Only a rock looming tall
only an epigraph in chalk:
‘Bare feet crush him,
dusty sandals trample him,
trample him…’
The Epigraph
Triandafillos Pittas
Translation © R J Dent (2009)
R J Dent 